The House
by Robin the Crossover Junkie
Summary: Buffy's friends go through her possessions after her death, one at a time.
1. The Ring

"The House" Part 1  
  
Title: "The Ring"  
  
Rating: G  
  
Author: Robin the Crossover Junkie  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Really, I don't. Well...maybe a burning jealous rage once in a while aimed at Jaime Bergman (*hiss*) BUT I don't have anything substantial. Joss and Co own it all. If they WANT, they can send me money, so that I might buy things, and then I won't have to make up stupid things for my disclaimers. Just a thought.  
  
Summary: I got this idea for a fic from me's challenge earlier, but I couldn't fit in a twist, so...meh.  
  
  
  
I'm holding it delicately between my forefinger and thumb, my gaze shared between it and the chipped nail polish on my fingers. I know what the ring means. Had one myself, once upon a time. Suspect it came from the same man for both of us. Mind you, she got it out of love. I got it out of dominance. Bloody poof.  
  
I swallow hard and slip the ring in my pocket. I know I shouldn't be here, going through her things, but I also know that the only other one who could have possibly pulled himself together to do it is drinking himself silly. I did that for a while, but when I passed out, all I could see was her face. Accusing me. So I stopped passing out. And now, here I was, doing the thing I thought I'd never have, never WANT to do.   
  
I shouldn't be taking the ring, or the pictures, or that damned stuffed toy. What the hell do I want with something like that? I'm not some bloody wanker. But I knew why. Because it was HERS. She'd touched it, felt it, been close to it. I just want to feel her. I can't feel anything else.  
  
The old ring cuts gently into my thigh in my pocket, and the pictures and the stuffed pig are clutched tightly in my hand as I trudge down the steps. I don't have to worry about making noise. Nibblet's staying at Harris' place, and Buffy's...Buffy isn't here anymore.  
  
I know you'll never love me. Oh god, her face. So beautiful, so weathered and innocent all at once.  
  
I know that I'm a monster. My chest is heaving. I don't need to breathe, but I can't catch my breath.   
  
But you treat me like a man. Suddenly I'm sitting on the floor, crying. The pain is so intense, but I should be used to it by now. I can't bloody take it. I can still taste the rawness of it.  
  
The robot is gone. The robot was gross and obscene. It bloody was. How could I have thought it could replace....  
  
What you did for me and Dawn. That was real. Yeah, it was. I did it for you, Buffy. All of it.   
  
The harshness of my pain starts to let up a little. I know that life, or unlife, as fate would have it, goes on. It's just harder to go on without her.  
  
Pain is...Pain is a desperate thing. Pain is biting the bullet and begging for the rejection and the loathing and the burning hatred, and eating it up like bloody candy. Pain is laying your whole damned heart on the line, wishing you had a soul so that maybe, just maybe, the woman you're supposed to hate might start to love you the way she'd loved the others in her life. Her family, her friends. Even the Poof. I just wanted to be in there, somewhere, when she listed the people she cared about. Pain sucks.  
  
And when I finally stand up, the dry sobs silent now in my throat, and the night sky still deep and unforgiving, I feel the ring continue cutting into my thigh, and I fleetingly wonder whether I should give it to Angel. Pfft. Not bloody likely. I step into the night, the pain still there, but numbing a little, the way I like it.  
  
And I'll never forget it. No, Buffy. Neither will I.  



	2. The Books

"The House" Part 2  
  
Title: The Books  
  
Rating: G  
  
Author: Robin the Crossover Junkie  
  
Description: The Scoobs go through Buffy's house.  
  
Disclaimer: The following characters and situations and inanimate objects belong to Joss Whedon and his minions. I probably belong to them somewhere in the scheme of things, too, so I guess I could almost make money off this. What's that? No, I can't? Oh. Well....okay then.  
  
  
  
  
Silence. It's almost unbearable, but it's calm, so I don't mind. I'm looking around the room, waiting for something to pop out at me, waiting to see what I want to have. Dawnie doesn't say much, but she said we could all go through the house, see what we needed of Buffy's. Tara had comforted her, asking her why she didn't go first. She said Dawnie should have first pick of what she wanted. Dawn just looked at her.  
  
"I have my life," she said." That's what Buffy gave me, and that's all I need." My heart broke again then, because she seemed so...empty. But I guess we're all pretty empty. Anya hasn't actually spoken for days. Not to us, anyway. Maybe she spoke to Xander, some time when the two were alone, but she hasn't sid anything to us. That's okay. I don't really feel like talking.  
  
I look around the room, but I don't see much. I'm in her bedroom, now. There's the picture of Dawn and Buffy that Dawn gave her for her last birthday. There's...I want that. The cross. The large silver cross that Angel gave Buffy when they first met. It's hanging on a little rack, along with a few other necklaces, but I like this one best. Buffy kept it. I pick it up and let it dance in my fingers. There's not dust on it, which means she's touched it often, cleaned it, cared for it. I know why. She couldn't let go. Not of her past, not of her duty, not of Angel.  
  
A few books I lent her are stacked beside the night stand, and I pick them up as well. Finally, I make one more sweep around the room, and decide that I've got enough. I remember how important to me she was, and I don't want to leave.  
  
I feel like I can't breathe, Will. I can't breathe either. It's like all the oxygen is sucked out of my lungs and I don't know how to put it back in. There's a yucky taste in my mouth, and I know that there's no one like Buffy in the world, and it hurts. It hurts a lot. I feel like somehow, I let her down, and I didn't do something that I should have done, and I didn't tell her how important she was to me when I really should have and now she's gone and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. And it hurts.  
  
This was when I quit, Will. Buffy putting away the book on the shelf. I drop the books I'm holding, shocked at the memory. It isn't even a real memory. Well, it is and it isn't. It was in Buffy's head, but so was I... Did she really quit? Is that why I lost my best friend? Because she quit?  
  
I wanted it over. I did too, Buffy. But not like this. Not with us, here, crying over you, feeling this empty vacumm feeling can't get air in and I just want it over! I don't want to feel this way anymore! I don't want the pain, the loss. The failure.   
  
I love you, Will. I love you too, Buffy. With all my heart.  



	3. The Pictures

"The House" Part 3  
  
Title: The Pictures  
  
Rating: G  
  
Author: Robin the Crossover Junkie  
  
Description: People do stuff.  
  
Disclaimer: Xander and Buffy belong to Joss. Deadboy is mine, though. He's my sex slave. Don't touch! No touching!  
  
  
So...I'm here. In her room. I wasn't in her room very often. Heh. I remember a time when I would have killed to be in Buffy's bedroom. Now I'd kill to not have to be here. Willow's been here, I know. She told me she took books. A necklace. I don't know what I want to take. Mr. Gordo's missing. Did Willow take him, too? She didn't tell me. Doesn't matter. I just wanna take a look around. See if there's anything interesting.  
  
A picture. From prom. Willow and Buffy. One with the three of us. I'm in the middle. I take the two pictures, frame and all. Those will be nice to have. When I get really down, I can look at them and get even more depressed. Big fun.  
  
I shake my head. What's this? A picture of Deadboy? So vampires DO show up in photographs. Interesting. I put this one back in the drawer. I hate Deadboy. If he'd been there...  
  
If he'd been there, he coulda stopped her, helped her. He could have gone up there with Spike, and kicked the crap out of Doc. Much as I hate Angel, he was good at the fighting and killing parts of life. And he'd have done everything in his power to save Dawn, just so Buffy wouldn't have to hurt. Spike, too. But with the two of them, they might have had a better chance. Bastard.  
  
And here comes the guilt. Angel has his own life. He stopped being a part of Buffy's life a while ago. She saved the world on her own, didn't she? Yeah. I just wish...I wish she coulda saved herself, too.  
  
Picture of Riley. Hmm. Too bad he left. I actually liked the guy. Too bad he went to the Central Republic of Where-in-the-hell. Wonder if he's heard yet? I think if he'd heard, he would have come back. Right? I mean...he did love her. So maybe he hasn't heard. We can't exactly tell him. Put that one back in the drawer. I don't need, or want, a picture of Riley. I want stuff to remind me of Buffy.  
  
But I think the pictures are gonna be enough for me. I do have memories, you know. I don't need some inanimate objects to remember one of my best friends.  
  
We're right behind you. Only, further back. We were always a little ways back, helping her. What do I do now? I don't have a Slayer to help. No more Scooby Gang. No Slayerettes. Just me and Anya, right?  
  
You're my friend! You're my Xander-shaped friend. I was her friend. I'd still be her friend, too. I'd always be her friend. I'd done some horrible things...  
  
Willow told me... Kick his ass. And some not-so-horrible things...  
  
RUN. But all of it...it wasn't enough. She's dead now. But she was my friend.  
  
My Buffy-shaped friend.  



	4. Numb

"The House" Part 4  
  
Title: "Numb"  
  
Rating: G  
  
Author: Robin the Crossover Junkie  
  
Description: The Scoobs go through Buffy's house, gathering her possessions after her death.  
  
Disclaimer: Who's in this one? Angel. Well. I've already established that he is MINE. Not Jaime Bergman's. Not Buffy's. Not Joss'. He's mine. So is the whipped cream. I use them together. It's all quite lovely. Uh oh. It's them damned white coats again. You know, I don't understand why you people can't just leave me alone. I'm telling you, that shirt doesn't fit! The sleeves are entirely too long! And I don't look good in white. It bleaches out my eyes. And it makes me look like Moby Dick. Dammit!  
  
  
  
  
I didn't think it would take me all night to get here. The drive itself was only a few hours. But I had to keep stopping. It was as if, the closer I got, the more pain I felt. Not that I've never felt pain, before. Just never this much.  
  
The aching void...it's worse than anything. I step through the threshold of the house where I was invited five years ago, and re-invited two years ago. The house is quiet. But I can smell the people who've come to mourn her. Willow, Xander, even Spike. No one else. Guess Giles and Dawn couldn't handle it.  
  
Willow told me the whole story a few days ago. She was in L.A. when we got home, and I was actually close to happy for the first time in a long time. But she destroyed my world. I don't blame her. I don't blame anyone.  
  
Well...that's not entirely true. I blame myself.  
  
I keep thinking about where I was, and what I was doing when she was dying. I was helping my friends. I was walking in the sunlight, smiling, laughing, telling stories and looking at my reflection. I was doing things I didn't think I would be able to do, when I should have been in Sunnydale, doing the only thing I ever wanted to do. I should have been keeping Buffy alive.  
  
I wish she'd called. I hadn't heard from her since the thing with Faith. Was that really over a year ago? No matter. I wouldn't be hearing from her again.  
  
I look around her bedroom, only slightly surprised that I had found my way to it. I hadn't really been paying attention.  
  
Her closet. Messy, of course. Not surprising. She was never very organized, and with everything that had been happening in her life lately, she wasn't going to clean.   
  
Her desk. Pictures on it. They've been touched. Two of them are missing. But I smell only Xander's scent lingering here, so I guess he took them. There's another picture here. Of me. I didn't even know she'd had it. She'd kept it. Somehow, that made me hurt more.  
  
Why had she kept it? The only thing I can figure is that she wanted me here, helping her. But I'd failed her in that. Again.  
  
I don't take any pictures of her. I have many. And her face is permanently etched in my mind. I'll leave the pictures for Dawn.  
  
Then I find what I want. I'll never read it. Not ever. It was hers, her trust. But I want it. I can smell her on it. Her journal. Every thought she ever thought deserved to be preserved on paper was written in her girlish scrawl on these pages. Everything she wanted, felt, desired, was outlined in perfect detail. I hold that in my hand, and I knew that one day, I would open it. I would read it. But not today. So I tuck it into my jacket. Then it finally hits me. I've known for three days. But it just hits me now. Buffy is dead. The love of my life, my soulmate, my dearest, is dead. I'll never see her laugh, cry, I'll never kiss her, smell her, touch her hair. Her life has ended.  
  
I collapse. On the floor, shaking, needing something but I don't know what. I can hardly form a coherent thought. Only "Buffy." The pain is so intense. I loved her so much. More than I even admitted to myself. And the one thing in my life that ever made any difference was gone. It was because of her that I began helping people. She changed me forever. I never thanked her. And now I never can.  
  
It's not enough time! That day...so long forgotten. No. I never forgot it. It wasn't enough time. It never would have been. I couldn't...I can't ever have time with her again.  
  
I almost lost you tonight. No. Buffy, you could never have lost me. But she did. Twice. First, when I lost my soul. Then, when I left. How could I have left? I loved her.  
  
My love. My soulmate. My reason for being. She's gone. Here I stand (how did I get standing again?) knowing she's gone forever. My heart is broken. I'm sobbing, and I can't feel my hands. There's nothing but this crushing pain deep in my chest, spreading to my appendages like fire. Burning, aching pressure. It won't let me go. I can't swallow, I can't stop crying, and I can't think. All I can do is stand there, sobbing, knowing she's dead. I can't move.  
  
I love you.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The End  



End file.
